The night had turned chill and foggy.The heart of the town, with its noises, was left behind.Reflected from the high vapours, its distant lights were manifest in quivering, cone-shaped streamers, in questionable blushes of unnamed colours, in unstable, ghostly waves of far, electric flashes.Now that the darkness was become more friendly, the wall against which the street splintered developed a stone coping topped with an armature of spikes.Beyond it loomed what appeared to be the acute angles of mountain peaks, pierced here and there by little lambent parallelograms.Considering this vista, Tansey at length persuaded himself that the seeming mountains were, in fact, the convent of Santa Mercedes, with which ancient and bulky pile he was better familiar from different coigns of view.A pleasant note of singing in his ears reinforced his opinion.High, sweet, holy carolling, far and harmonious and uprising, as of sanctified nuns at their responses.At what hour did the Sisters sing? He tried to think --was it six, eight, twelve? Tansey leaned his back against the limestone wall and wondered.Strange things followed.The air was full of white, fluttering pigeons that circled about, and settled upon the convent wall.The wall blossomed with a quantity of shining green eyes that blinked and peered at him from the solid masonry.A pink, classic nymph came from an excavation in the cavernous road and danced, barefoot and airy, upon the ragged flints.The sky was traversed by a company of beribboned cats, marching in stupendous, aerial procession.
The noise of singing grew louder; an illumination of unseasonable fireflies danced past, and strange whispers came out of the dark without meaning or excuse.
Without amazement Tansey took note of these phenomena.He was on some new plane of understanding, though his mind seemed to him clear and, indeed, happily tranquil.
A desire for movement and exploration seized him: he rose and turned into the black gash of street to his right.For a time the high wall formed one of its boundaries; but further on, two rows of black-
windowed houses closed it in.
Here was the city's quarter once given over to the Spaniard.Here were still his forbidding abodes of concrete and adobe, standing cold and indomitable against the century.From the murky fissure, the eye saw, flung against the sky, the tangled filigree of his Moorish balconies.
Through stone archways breaths of dead, vault-chilled air coughed upon him; his feet struck jingling iron rings in staples stone-buried for half a cycle.Along these paltry avenues had swaggered the arrogant Don, had caracoled and serenaded and blustered while the tomahawk and the pioneer's rifle were already uplifted to expel him from a continent.And Tansey, stumbling through this old-world dust, looked up, dark as it was, and saw Andalusian beauties glimmering on the balconies.Some of them were laughing and listening to the goblin music that still followed; others harked fearfully through the night, trying to catch the hoof beats of caballeros whose last echoes from those stones had died away a century ago.Those women were silent, but Tansey heard the jangle of horseless bridle-bits, the whirr of riderless rowels, and, now and then, a muttered malediction in a foreign tongue.But he was not frightened.Shadows, nor shadows of sounds could daunt him.Afraid? No.Afraid of Mother Peek? Afraid to face the girl of his heart? Afraid of tipsy Captain Peek? Nay! nor of these apparitions, nor of that spectral singing that always pursued him.Singing! He would show them! He lifted up a strong and untuneful voice:
"When you hear them bells go tingalingling,"
serving notice upon those mysterious agencies that if it should come to a face-to-face encounter "There'll be a hot time In the old town To-night!"
How long Tansey consumed in treading this haunted byway was not clear to him, but in time he emerged into a more commodious avenue.When within a few yards of the corner he perceived, through a window, that a small confectionary of mean appearance was set in the angle.His same glance that estimated its meagre equipment, its cheap soda-water fountain and stock of tobacco and sweets, took cognizance of Captain Peek within lighting a cigar at a swinging gaslight.
As Tansey rounded the corner Captain Peek came out, and they met /vis-
a-vis/.An exultant joy filled Tansey when he found himself sustaining the encounter with implicit courage.Peek, indeed! He raised his hand, and snapped his fingers loudly.
It was Peek himself who quailed guiltily before the valiant mien of the drug clerk.Sharp surprise and a palpable fear bourgeoned upon the Captain's face.And, verily, that face was one to rather call up such expressions on the faces of others.The face of a libidinous heathen idol, small eyed, with carven folds in the heavy jowls, and a consuming, pagan license in its expression.In the gutter just beyond the store Tansey saw a closed carriage standing with its back toward him and a motionless driver perched in his place.
"Why, it's Tansey!" exclaimed Captain Peek."How are you, Tansey? H-
have a cigar, Tansey?"
"Why, it's Peek!" cried Tansey, jubilant at his own temerity."What deviltry are you up to now, Peek? Back streets and a closed carriage!
Fie! Peek!"
"There's no one in the carriage," said the Captain, smoothly.
"Everybody out of it is in luck," continued Tansey, aggressively."I'd love for you to know, Peek, that I'm not stuck on you.You're a bottle-nosed scoundrel."
"Why, the little rat's drunk!" cried the Captain, joyfully; "only drunk, and I thought he was on! Go home, Tansey, and quit bothering grown persons on the street."
But just then a white-clad figure sprang out of the carriage, and a shrill voice--Katie's voice--sliced the air: "Sam! Sam!--help me, Sam!"
Tansey sprung toward her, but Captain Peek interposed his bulky form.
